All These New Beginnings
by Scarecrowqueen
Summary: On the road after the apocalypse-that-wasn't.  This is how the story begins.  Dean/Cas pre-slash.


Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the Movies, book, or music referenced in this fic.

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This is how the story begins:

A young woman, holding the body of her dead lover, makes a deal with a yellow-eyed demon. Ten years later she burns on the ceiling while her infant son wails.

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This is how the story begins:

A young man, thinking of the body of his dead brother, makes a deal with a crossroads demon. One year later he dies, screaming over the sounds of the hellhounds feeding.

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This is how the story begins:

Four months after his death, a young man crawls from him own grave. The first lungful of fresh air burns so sweet, and the sun on his face is a revelation. He does not know it yet, but he bears the weight of a handprint, and divine purpose.

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This is how the story begins:

The Angel of Thursday stands resolute beside a prophet as the world shakes and the force of an Archangel descends. They only have one shot, and Castiel will ensure that Dean can make the most of it.

He will hold them _all _off.

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This is how the story begins:

Team Free Will gatecrashes the last showdown of the apocalypse.

Somehow, from the hands of humans and their Fallen, an old cemetery bears witness to a miracle.

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This is how the story begins:

Sam's working the microwave in the latest motel room, watching the red and white bag of popcorn slowly inflate, enjoying the rhythmic popping in the same visceral way you'd enjoy walking on bubble wrap. The kitchenette is really a dingy little corner with a tiny sink, a mini fridge and a microwave older than Sam himself, but it makes delicious snackfood well enough so he's certainly not complaining.

"It's something of a large allegory, really. Chock full or religious symbolism, not to mention the mythology and philosophy references. I'd think you'll enjoy it." Sam speaks absently over his shoulder as he fishes the beer from the fridge, carrying the six-pack across the room to deposit it on the nightstand between the two beds before returning to the microwave. Behind him Dean grunts from his seat against the headboard of the bed he'd claimed upon arrival.

"Ignore Sammy's mad ramblings. It's the rampant ass-kicking that makes this movie awesome. That and the hot chick in all the black vinyl, she's pretty awesome too." Dean ignores Sam's snort, his lazy grin more than a little salacious, at least until he tips his head back and opens his mouth, shoveling a hefty fingerful of BBQ chip crumbs into his mouth. He chews garishly; smacking his lips before shaking the mostly empty bag, like making the contents settle will somehow suddenly reveal more crunchy goodness ripe for his consumption.

"It does not seem improbable that I can find enjoyment in both aspects of the film." Castiel of the diplomatic responses is crouched somewhat awkwardly in front of the small Motel television, carefully feeding the rental disc into the built-in DVD player. His actions are both controlled and painstakingly deliberate, like most things he's done since becoming human, as if there is some great wisdom or lesson in the mastery of these simple motions. The DVD feeds easily enough, the case clicking shut with finality as Cas stands with his strange rolling grace, padding barefoot over to Dean's bed. Dean shifts his outstretched legs, bringing the right one up half-crossed and letting the left slide off the edge of the bed, bending his knee to let the foot rest flat on the floor. Cas acknowledges the gesture with a slight nod, eyes flicking beneath dark lashes to meet Dean's, blue to green. Cas does not sit so much as perch on the newly-vacated spot near the end of the bed where Dean's feet had rested moments before, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his shins. It was his preferred method of sitting, no matter how many times Dean had ribbed him about looking like a shy toddler. It suited him, however, and neither brother could deny that their friend was somehow strangely composed even in such a curled position.

The bag of finished popcorn smacks onto the sheets next to Deans hip as Sam returns again from the kitchenette. Dean crows with joy, hastily crumpling the empty chip bag with a harsh crackle of foil and lobbing it in an apathetic overhand towards the garbage beside the door. The bag smacks the wall next to the can and lands miserably on the grimy carpet, but none of the men move to remedy it. Instead they busy themselves with more immediate concerns. Dean tears into the hot bag of popcorn and promptly burns his fingertips on the first few kernels, cursing and sucking the buttery appendages into his mouth to cool them. Cas tips his head, offering Dean a thin-lipped half smile of amusement, and earns a full-lipped pout in response. Sam finishes stripping off his shoes and jeans to settle against the headboard to Dean's right in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, propping himself up with a pillow. Dean is also similarly clad in his sleep clothes, navy boxers and a wifebeater so old it's gone silk-soft with repeated washings. Cas is clad only in red plaid flannel pajama pants, revealing the elegant arch of his spine and bare shoulders showing signs of slowly broadening with hard-won musculature. From Dean's angle he can admire the heavy black inkwork along the side of Cas's ribs; his true name in Enochian.

"This is a trilogy you know, but only the first movie is really good, the others are kind of boring." Dean comments idly, having pulled his fingers from his mouth with a wet noise and deeming it safe to try again for hot buttered goodness.

"The second two were alright, they were somewhat more thinking movies than action movies, if you know what I mean. Actually, the second two movies were meant to be one, and the original storyline in its entirety. The only reason the first one was made was because the creators felt that a background story was needed, so the rest would make sense." Sam doesn't look up while he speaks; instead he frowns at the unfamiliar remote he's now holding. It takes a second longer, but Sam eventually finds the play button and the television begins to show the opening of _The Matrix_.

"Cas does enough thinking, he needs to learn to kick back and relax." Dean shifts a little deeper into the mattress as if to emphasise his point before continuing. "At least he enjoyed Star Wars, that's some good classic cinema right there. Of course, it coulda been Leia in the gold bikini. Do you know how many time I rubbed one out as a teenager thinking about that gold bikini?"

"I can assure you that I did not pay particularly close attention to any such female attire." Cas is staring determinedly at the television as he replies; like the screen is holding a secret message from God, but the tips of his ears have gone tellingly pink, and Dean barks a laugh. "Man, every guy in America's rubbed one out over that scene! It's kind of a rite of passage really. Congratulations you're a real boy!" Cas says nothing, holding himself perfectly still and for all the world appearing not to notice Dean at all, save for his deliberately extended middle finger and the flush beginning to creep further down his neck. Dean's continued laughter is cut off by a grunt as his brother takes pity on the former Angel and thumps Dean on the chest, ignoring his muttered oath. Dean rubs at the sore spot for a moment before settling back in time to watch Trinity escape through the phone.

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This is how the story will go:

By the time the third movie winds to a close, the hunters will be long sleeping, awkward on a too-small motel bed. When he wakes in the morning, Sam will realize he'd passed out on their third bag of popcorn resulting in grease smears across his shirt and the sheets. He'll sweep the crushed kernels into a large hand to dump in the garbage, finally properly disposing of the chip bag from the previous night, before wandering to the bathroom to shower. Dean will wake next; then discover that Cas's foot had kicked a mostly-empty beer bottle onto the floor where the dregs had cheerily soaked into the ugly maroon carpet. Dean will try to half-heartedly sop it up with his sock before stumbling into the bathroom for his turn in the shower, mumbling to his half-dressed brother as he passes. Cas will rise last, blinking awake slowly, sleepy and rumpled. He'll be the one to finally eject the DVD, returning it gently to its case to be delivered back to the rental store on their way out of town. He'll be the last one to shower, stealing Sam's shampoo the way he and Dean always do but never admit to. They'll be on the road towards the highway in less than an hour, and both brothers will let Cas pick McDonalds for breakfast, because for some inexplicable reason sausage and egg Mcmuffins are possibly one of his favourite things about humanity, as strange as that is. Dean will be behind the wheel, in a mellow enough mood for U2's _The Joshua Tree_ to be playing, mostly because it's a favourite of both Sam and Cas. Sammy is sitting shotgun with a Mona Lisa smile as he watches the fields and farmland roll by, Cas in the backseat with his lips slightly parted to mouth out the best lines from his much-loved copy of _House of Leaves._ Last night was a good night, and today's a good day. The sun shines, the sky is clear, the road stretches out fathomless and black before them. They have jobs well done behind them, jobs to be done ahead of them. There are things to hunt and people to save, and Dean's family is together.

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This is where we are right now:

Right now, three men are sleeping as a DVD menu screen plays on and endless loop. A former Angel of the Lord lies on his back in the middle of a sketchy Motel bed, left arm curled protectively around the Righteous Man, while his head rests on the Angel's shoulder. Dean always sleeps closest to the door, by long habit putting himself between his family and any potential threat. Cas's face is turned, every exhale feathering Dean's short hair where his parted lips very nearly rest In a gentle kiss on Dean's forehead. Lucifer's denied vessel is along the opposite edge of the bed, facedown and snoring, long legs hanging over the end at the ankle and left arm trailing on the floor. Sam's long right arm is slung out, resting across the two bodies next to him, and while he sleeps a bit apart he's still assured of their nearness.

Tomorrow there will be sunsets to drive into. Tomorrow there will be new starts, new moments to explore. Tomorrow will become today and brings new joys and failures and tears and triumphs and a million little moments all strung together to knit three lives together, things bound together in blood and bone, in sacrifice and love.

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This is how the story begins; today, and the day before, and the day before that. This story has a hundred thousand beginnings in different places, at different times.

Stories like theirs have no ending.


End file.
